The morning drill had left Krystian practically vibrating with energy. Despite the lack of sleep and the Prince's constant silence, Krystian was in a fantastic mood. He was currently speed-walking through the palace kitchen corridor, juggling three apples he'd swiped and humming a tune that was definitely too loud for the "Quiet Zone."
He practically skipped into the study, nearly colliding with Miles, who was standing by the window with a look of extreme focus.
"Morning, Prince! Or... almost afternoon? I lost track," Krystian chirped, tossing an apple into the air and catching it behind his back. "You look like you're staring a hole through the horizon again. Need a snack? They're crunchy."
Miles didn't even turn around. "Krystian, if you do not stop that rhythmic thudding of the fruit, I will have the guards confiscate your hands."
"Aww, don't be like that. It's a great day! The sun is finally peaking through the fog, and you actually had a real conversation with me. It was a miracle," Krystian continued, leaning against a bookshelf and taking a loud, juicy bite. "So, what's the plan? More maps? More 'noise' to complain about?"
Miles frowned in frustration at Krystian's attitude." "You are very talkative today. Its giving me a headache."
Krystian pouted at the Prince which was quickly subdued by The Prince's piercing look. "Don't be like that, I just happened to be this way." Krystian gave the Prince his signature smile which has melted hearts before.
It didn't seem to be working on the Prince.
Miles turned, his expression pained. "The Original plan was for a quiet briefing. But it seems fate has other—"
A frantic knocking at the outer chamber doors cut him off. It wasn't the measured, rhythmic knock of a palace guard. It was desperate.
Miles's hand immediately dropped to the hilt of his practice sword. "Stay behind me."
Krystian's bubbly demeanor vanished in a second, replaced by a sharp, focused alertness. He didn't stay behind Miles; he stepped up right beside him, his own hand drifting to the hidden knife in his belt.
The doors burst open. A girl stumbled in, soaked to the bone despite the sun being out. Her clothes were travel-worn, expensive but torn, and her eyes were wide with a mix of terror and defiance. She looked like she'd been running for days.
"Who are you?" Miles demanded, his voice dropping an octave into his 'Royal Command' tone.
The girl gasped for air, clutching the doorframe. She looked between the two of them—the stone faced Prince and the bright-eyed commoner—and seemed to make a snap decision.
"My name is Tara... Tara Thorne," she panted, her voice trembling but clear. "I'm a... a merchant's daughter from the Northern passes. My caravan was hit by something... something that didn't move. It wasn't human. I need sanctuary. Please."
Krystian was across the room before Miles could even process the request. He didn't care about protocols of separation. He saw someone hurt.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," Krystian said, his voice dropping into that warm, comforting tone he used with his younger siblings. He grabbed a clean cloak from a chair and wrapped it around her shivering shoulders. "You're safe here. Nobody is going to hurt you."
He looked back at Miles, his face flickering with a bit of a challenge. "Prince, she's freezing. We can't just stand here and stare at her."
Miles looked at "Tara Thorne." His analytical mind was clearly screaming that her story didn't fit. Her accent was too refined for a merchant's daughter, and her boots were made of a leather that only the rich could afford. But the fear in her eyes was genuine.
"The Northern passes are blocked by the winter frost," Miles said coldly, though he didn't call the guards. "How did you get through?"
Tara looked at Miles with a strange, fleeting expression—almost as if she recognized him, or hated him. "I didn't go over the mountains. I went under. Through the old mines."
Miles's eyes sharpened. Nobody went through the mines and came out sane.
"Krystian, take her to the guest annex in the servant's wing," Miles commanded. "Do not speak to anyone about her arrival. I will handle the matters with the king."
Krystian nodded, helping Tara stand. "Come on, Tara. Let's get you some of that cardboard palace food. It's terrible, but it's hot."
As they walked out, Krystian gave her a reassuring smile, his natural warmth acting like a shield. "Don't mind the Prince. He's just upset because you interrupted his brooding session. I'm Krystian, by the way. I'm the 'operational scout,' which is just a fancy way of saying I find things he misses."
Tara looked at Krystian, a small, weary smile finally touching her lips. "You're very loud, Krystian."
"I get that a lot!"
Inside the study, Miles watched them go. He looked at the spot where the girl had stood. Tara Thorne. The name felt fake. The story felt like a lie. But the 'noise' he had been complaining about was suddenly very, very loud.